


Counting bodies

by Ischa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Disturbing Themes, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:25:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is civil war in heaven, the Winchesters are shooting first and asking questions later and bodies are piling up at Castiel's feet.<br/><i>“You look like shit,” Dean tells him, handing him a glass.<br/>“I hope this is the good stuff,” Castiel answers.<br/>“Only demons can afford the good stuff, Cas,” Dean says. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting bodies

**Title:** Counting bodies  
 **Pairing:** Dean/Sam/Castiel  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Summary:** In which there is civil war in heaven, the Winchesters are shooting first and asking questions later and bodies are piling up at Castiel's feet.  
 _“You look like shit,” Dean tells him, handing him a glass.  
“I hope this is the good stuff,” Castiel answers.  
“Only demons can afford the good stuff, Cas,” Dean says. _  
**Warning(s):** sex, threesome, all things Supernatural, spoilers up to season 6  
 **Author’s Notes:** This is for asm_z, because she is awesome and deserves fic.\o/  
 **Word Count:** 1.799  
 **Beta:** tygermine  
 **Disclaimer:** Don’t know, don’t own, not real

\--+--  
~1~  
Castiel thought, after defeating Lucifer and stopping the Apocalypse, it would get better. It was bound to get better. It got a lot worse instead.

~+~  
“I thought he died?” Sam asks, Castiel doesn’t even look in his direction. Castiel thought that too. “Back in the past…” Sam tries again.

“Obviously not,” Castiel answers.

“Don’t be an ass,” Dean says mildly.

“I need a drink,” Castiel sighs.

“Thought you couldn’t get drunk?” Sam asks.

“You also thought Raphael was dead,” Castiel gives back.

“Cas…” Dean warns softly.  
Castiel nods. Yes, they are his only hope right now, he can behave. He can. He is a soldier. “Pass the Jack, Sam,” Dean says to his brother and Sam does.

~+~  
The dynamics are off. Sam is his own person now and different. Castiel doesn’t know if it’s for better or for worse. After all Sam’s new direction gets things done and that is a good thing in Castiel’s eyes.  
Dean is still Dean. Trying to help people and caring about everyone else more than himself.  
And Castiel …well, he has a civil war on his hands and another angel who wants to raise hell by starting the Apocalypse.  
History really repeats itself all the time.  
In his darker hours he thinks maybe they would’ve been better off with the Apocalypse as planned by Lucifer.

 

~2~  
“You would’ve thought they learned by now,” Sam says, cleaning his hands on his jeans. They are ruined anyway.

“That there is always a Winchester to crash the party titled The Diabolic Plan?” Dean asks, Sam grins. There is blood on his face; a splatter of red.  
Castiel stares at the body prone at his feet. It feels strangely like an offering.

“You ready to go back?” Sam asks, softly. Something like concern in his voice.

“Yes,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t know where ‘back’ is anymore.

~+~  
Castiel tells them he’s in heaven, fighting the good fight when he leaves them for days and weeks at a time and he is. Most of the time. Sometimes he’s not. Sometimes he’s somewhere else, being someone else. Just to get away from all this. The blood, the war in heaven, his soldiers. He misses Michael on days like this. With Michael, they could win and all this would be over.  
Sometimes he’s just tired of counting bodies.

~+~  
“You smell like winter rain,” Sam says and Castiel can tell he didn’t want to say it, because a second later he looks sheepish.  
Castiel doesn’t know what to answer to that. Maybe it’s true that he smells like winter rain, even if it’s only autumn here where the Winchesters are.

“What do we have?” Dean asks entering with coffee and pie. “Oh hey Cas,” he adds handing one coffee cup to his brother.

“Dead and more dead,” Castiel says.

“What else is new?” Dean answers with a grin. Sam shakes his head.  
Nothing like this can ever end well, Castiel thinks.

 

~3~  
Angels don’t leave bodies when they die, only shadows, Castiel counts them too.

“Salted and burned,” Dean says, sitting down on a gravestone and taking out his flask. His hands are dirty and there is a smear of soil on his collarbone. He takes a sip and hands it over to Castiel.

“You ruined the angel,” Sam says, but he doesn’t sound too disapproving.

“Not yet,” Dean answers wiggling his brows.  
Sam chokes on a laugh.

~+~  
Sam is ruthless, that’s the word. He is determined to get the job done, whatever the job at hand is. And it isn’t only the Apocalypse and Raphael. There are a million other things they take care of. Things Castiel doesn’t know about when they happen because he is too occupied with the war that threatens to tear heaven apart.

~+~  
“You look like shit,” Dean tells him, handing him a glass.

“I hope this is the good stuff,” Castiel answers.

“Only demons can afford the good stuff, Cas,” Dean says.

Castiel nods. He should have known. “There really is no justice in the world,” he says.

Dean laughs. “Dude.”  
Castiel sits down on the bed and gulps his drink in one go, not enough to make him drunk, a liquor store wouldn’t be enough now that he is a full angel again.

“Where have you been?” Sam asks as he comes out of the bathroom in just a towel. Castiel is too tired to look away.

“Fighting the good fight. Killing angels and torturing people for information…” he says, closing his eyes against Dean’s obvious disapproval.  
A drop of water hits his neck as Sam passes by to get to his clothes and his eyes snap open. Sam is putting on his pants and Dean isn’t looking away from his brother's back. Castiel isn’t either.

 

~4~  
He finds himself spending as much time as he can spare with the Winchesters. He feels like they’re grounding him more than his own kind.

“It’s because we are your own kind,” Sam says when Castiel lets it slip. Dean gives him a look that says a lot of things and mostly that he is ruined, corrupted and that he can’t come back from that anymore. Or maybe Castiel is reading too much into one look.  
Not after the time he spent with Dean here on earth. He thought he could just go back and be an angel again. The truth is he can’t because he isn’t merely another angel anymore.

~+~  
The bodies keep piling up to his feet. The Winchesters still shoot first and ask questions later when things get messy. As strategies go, it’s not the worst one. It keeps them all alive.  
Still, Castiel thinks, still bodies at his feet – offerings to pagan gods.

“Courting gifts,” Sam whispers one night passing him by to get to the car. He shivers and it has nothing to do with the cold of late autumn.

~+~  
The Winchesters can’t read minds, but sometimes it surely feels like it. He is a soldier, death is nothing new to Castiel. He’s seen his fair share of death in his eternal existence, he will see more still. It’s not something he looks forward to.  
Dean drinks more than usual after the disaster with the kids.

“Too close to home,” Sam says softly. Castiel is watching Dean drink, how his muscles work when he swallows. His eyes are closed.

“It seems like we can’t ever save enough people,” Dean says suddenly.

“We can’t,” Castiel answers.  
Dean nods and takes another sip from his drink.

 

~5~  
Castiel isn’t so sure they are joking anymore. The bodies are piling up at his feet. Angels he fights, angels he himself wasn’t able to find, but the Winchesters (with Bobby’s help) could, prophets he needs to question, people he needs gone because they are a threat to his plan to win the war in heaven.

~+~  
He finds himself lying on one of the beds in a shady motel somewhere, nowhere, and Dean is drunk again, because he can’t deal with crazy people who are slaughtering children for fun. Sam is reading stuff up on the internet, or he pretends to. Castiel knows Sam is watching his brother without really watching him.

“Just stop,” Dean says. Dean knows Sam better than Sam knows himself sometimes. Castiel knows it used to be different; Dean used to know Sam as well as he knows himself. Whatever that means, when you’re a hunter or a Winchester or both.

“What?” Sam asks, he sounds defensive.

“Worrying,” Dean answers.

Sam makes a noise that isn’t a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m okay,” Dean says.

“You keep saying that,” Castiel throws in and Sam gives him a look and a small smile. Sam, Castiel thinks, grew on him. “It doesn’t mean anything when you say it. It’s like ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’ – useless and hollow.”

“I never said ‘I love you’” Dean answers.

“Would it mean anything if you did?” Sam asks.

Dean looks over at him and gulps the rest of his whisky. “Yeah, it would.”  
Sam nods.

~+~  
Castiel learns that the Winchester brothers woo someone with death. That’s how they express their affection, their love. By dying for each other, by killing things. It’s a family thing.

“We try to stay alive,” Dean says, rubbing the blood from his hands.

“We’ve learned everything from our parents and grandparents…” Sam throws in. He’s undressing, because his clothes are drenched in blood.

“I think that’s a lost cause,” Dean offers with a look at the pile of Sam’s stuff. Sam sighs.

“Thank you captain obvious,” he says. A smile playing around his lips. “It must be nice not to get dirty,” he adds in Castiel’s direction.

“I don’t feel clean,” Castiel hears himself say.

They turn as one and Castiel knows that he has the power to keep them away, but he really doesn’t want to.  
His clothes fall to the floor one by one, are nearly torn apart by Dean as he tries to get to skin.  
The surprising part is maybe that Dean is the gentle one, while Sam is pushing, taking selfishly. Given their history, he would’ve thought differently, but then maybe it’s not so surprising at all. Dean obviously always cares about people. Why would it be different when it comes to sex?  
Castiel never told Dean that he went and slept with a couple of people after the Apocalypse just to know what the fuss was all about. It was okay, he supposes. He tried women and men and it was okay.

“Not a blushing virgin,” Dean whispers in his skin and then laughs as Castiel moans because Sam does something wicked to his cock, Sam’s teeth dragging over his neck.

“No,” he says, but doesn’t say that this must be what the fuss is all about. This overload of sensations and feeling and _sparks_ under his skin. Dean kisses him then, hot and hard and fierce. Sam is a warm presence at his back. Castiel feels small, powerless and cocooned between them and it’s not a bad feeling.  
There is pressure and hot, hot skin all over him, inside him. He feels the bruises form on his hips, feels the skin of his lips give under Dean’s teeth, feels how he breaks apart. But it doesn’t matter any way. Come tomorrow, no one will see the evidence, because it’ll be gone.  
Like salted and buried bodies.

~end~


End file.
